Ace of Hearts
by Reiko Katsura
Summary: Sirius Black did not leave Azkaban the same man. Asexual!Sirius. One-shot. NC-17.


**Title:** Ace of Hearts

**Author:** Reiko K.

**Pairing:** Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

**Word Count:** ~6,700

**Rating:** NC-17

**Warnings:** PTSD

**Summary:** Sirius Black did not leave Azkaban the same man. (Asexual!Sirius)

**Notes: **This was written for _kink_n_squick's 2013 Christmas Fest_. My recipient, rhye, provided the prompts "asexuality" and "masturbation". To be honest I don't even like Remus/Sirius, but the prompts were interesting and I just _had _to write this.

Much thanks to my beta-readers Híril and Beanie, who both offered invaluable advice and encouragement.

**Disclaimer:** I own nada. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**_Ace of Hearts_**

* * *

Sirius could still remember what it felt like to enjoy sex. He'd been a teenager like any other and as such had obsessed over and partaken in as much sex as he could—which had been a lot. Sirius had held no qualms about using his handsome face and charms to find partners. His friends had often joked that by the time he reached his seventh year he would've already slept with half of Hogwarts. It had been a near thing.

Sirius had once loved sex. He had once loved the gracelessness of it, the filthiness, the mess. Had once loved the sheer animalism of rutting, fucking, claiming; of shedding away the human and being driven only by need. To Sirius sex had been all about losing control, and he'd desired that even more than the intimacy of being with another person and the pleasure of getting off.

To Sirius, whose entire childhood had been a constant study of control, the lack of it had been exhilarating.

But that had been a long time ago, and Sirius was not the same person that he'd been back then.

While he could remember enjoying it and could recall all the reasons why, he could not bring himself to do so now. Everything about sex that he had once loved—the crudeness, the sleaziness, the chaos—drudged up memories of things he wished he could forget: the grime of Azkaban, the barbaric conditions, the capitulation of his control, of his dignity. He had spent thirteen years as an animal in that hellish place, and then many more months when he'd been hunted like prey for having escaped.

And then he was acquitted of all his crimes and made a free man. Just like that.

Not to say that it had been an easy endeavor, for it hadn't been. It had taken cunning the likes of which he had once abhorred to survive the war and entrap the rat who was to blame for _everything _Sirius had lost. But he'd done it, with the help of Remus, Harry, and Albus. Together the four of them had seen it through.

The sight of a decidedly unharmed Peter Pettigrew and the evidence of the dark mark on his arm had been all it had taken. The Chief Warlock had slammed his gavel, proclaimed Sirius innocent of all charges, and he'd been whisked away to discuss matters of compensation while Peter Pettigrew was dragged off to Azkaban without a trial. Sirius thought it poetic justice.

In the months that followed his acquittal Sirius had discovered many things about himself. He discovered that grime of any sort nauseated him, and that spontaneity grated on his nerves. Everything from the house he lived in to the clothes on his back to the books that occupied his shelves was kept clean to the point of obsession, and he did not handle surprises or aberrations to his routine very well. He learned that his old flare for mischief and mayhem was gone, replaced by a frenzied need for order and propriety; things that made him feel normal, made him feel _human_. Sirius couldn't even bring himself to shift most days, his animagus form a constant reminder of the animal he'd become while imprisoned, and in more ways than one.

He only ever relented when his nightmares became overwhelming and he sought the sanctuary of a mind that could not apprehend human trauma. Otherwise, 'Padfoot' became a boggart that he kept locked away in the deepest cupboards of his mind, ignored in hopes of being forgotten. Sirius had no intention of ever being an animal again.

More surprising of all, however, had been the discovery of his newfound disinterest in sex. Sirius shuddered at the thought of being with another person in such a way, balked at the required intimacy. The filthiness of it, the cum and sweat and spit, made him sick. He couldn't even force enough interest to masturbate. He'd tried, the once, and the experience hadn't been one he was keen on repeating. The things that used to arouse him, like naked men and women caught in obscene acts, did nothing for him. His hand on his cock felt good in the way a massage after a long day of work did; satisfying, but not in any sexual way.

Perhaps he should have been troubled by that, but he wasn't. He felt anger, for certain, at the existence of another thing Azkaban had taken from him, but that was the extent. Sirius simply didn't miss it enough to care. He had more important things to worry about anyway, such as managing his assets and properties, deciding whether or not to find work, and spending time with Remus and Harry.

It wasn't until two years after he'd been declared a free man that it became a problem.

* * *

Remus didn't understand, but Sirius hadn't expected him to. He didn't understand it much himself. Remus had accepted it, though, and that was the important part.

Sirius still thought Remus should find someone else—someone who'd be able to care for him the way he needed. Who'd _love _him the way he needed. Remus didn't agree.

"I don't even like _kissing_, Remus!" Sirius shouted, eyes narrowed to slits. To have been given something that he'd always wanted, and to realize that he could not care for it properly, was agonizing. Sirius hadn't cared one whit about his absent libido because he'd never imagined it would be a problem. He'd had no intention of being with anyone in a romantic way (no one he'd thought was interested in him, anyway) and so that had been that.

But then Remus had gone and tugged the rug right out from under him by bringing up the possibility of them becoming more than just friends. As if Sirius hadn't been pining over him since their school-boy days!

The revelation had been glorious for all of the twenty minutes it took him to remember his _affliction_. He'd kept it a secret for as long as he could (that is, a week) but it was rather hard to hide such a thing from the person to whom such things were expected.

"I'll get over it," Remus said, easily, as if the fact that Sirius could not make love to him, could not even _kiss _him, was as inconsequential matter that was worth no further discussion.

"Oh, you'd say that _now_," Sirius retorted angrily. It was his greatest fear—that Remus would eventually come to miss that which Sirius could not give him and _leave_. Sirius would rather put an end to their relationship now than grow attached and be left behind later.

Remus sighed. "Come here, Sirius."

Sirius stubbornly remained where he was. Remus rolled his eyes and stood, then crossed the short distance between them to meet him.

"You're being unreasonable," he reprimanded him.

"I'm not," Sirius said. Because he wasn't. Not about this.

Remus sighed. He cupped Sirius' cheeks between his hands, leaned forward, and pressed a closed-mouthed kiss against his lips. It was soft and dry, nothing but a delicate touch of lips, feather light. It was nothing new to them—was just about the only thing bordering on sexual that Sirius could enjoy.

Remus pecked him once, twice, thrice, and leaned back to smile at him.

"See? You just kissed me. Or rather I kissed you, but semantics."

Sirius refused to allow himself to hope. He squashed it down and shook his head. "But it's not _enough_, Remus."

"Not enough for me or for you?"

"For you, of course!"

"Ah. But who are you to tell me what I should and should not find fulfilling, Siri?"

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, though what he could not say, but Remus mercifully cut him off.

"No, Sirius. It is my _choice_. I know ruining this scares you—it scares me, too. But you have to trust me to know my own mind and my own limitations the same way I trust that you know yours." He grabbed Sirius' hand and interlaced their fingers together, then squeezed. "Understand?"

Sirius looked at their entwined hands, then at the fierce glint in Remus' eyes. He wanted to shake his head, wanted to deny it, wanted to get him to realize that surely it could not be as easy as that; nothing ever was.

But he thought back to what Remus had asked ("_Not enough for me of for you_?"), and his shoulders slumped in defeat. It was true, after all. It _wasn't_ enough for Sirius. While Sirius did not want to partake in the activity himself, he still wanted to give Remus that kind of pleasure, still wanted to fulfill those kinds of needs. It wasn't enough—_Sirius _wasn't enough_, _and that was the problem.

"_Remus_," Sirius groaned, his voice anguished.

Remus wrapped his arms around him and drew him in.

"Shh, Sirius," he murmured, one hand tight against his back, the other pressed against his skull, supporting him. "We'll make this work. I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. This—just being able to hold you, touch you, care for you—is more than enough for me. Don't agonize over something that truly isn't an issue."

Sirius only burrowed himself deeper into the embrace, unable to say a word. His emotions were churning inside him, coiling like a cluster of writhing snakes, leaving him incapable of distinguishing one from the other; of determining where one ended and another began. His mind, too, was full of shifting thoughts that wriggled away and scattered when he tried to capture one. It was exhausting work so he soon stopped trying.

"And besides," Remus continued flippantly, "I've only got a decade or so before I'll be too old to get it up anyway. Best I start getting used to it now, don't you think?"

Sirius, eyes startled open, threw his head back and laughed.

* * *

Sirius was a nervous wreck for an entire month after their conversation. He kept expecting Remus to change his mind. Only when it became clear that Remus really wasn't going to did he allow himself to relax. It helped that Remus seemed genuinely content with what Sirius was able to give—such as more closed-mouth kisses, and frequent touches, and hugs.

For Sirius' part, it was as if his disinterest in sexual intimacy manifested itself in other ways, primarily touch. Oh, he'd known that being starved of touch for so long had contributed to how tactile he'd become (towards Harry and Remus, anyway), but being in a relationship was something else entirely. It was as if his mind and body were filling the holes that sex would have occupied by urging him to touch Remus every chance he got.

If they were walking side-by-side Sirius would grab his hand. If they were sitting on the couch he'd hug his shoulder. Sirius was constantly grabbing his waist, playing with his hair, trailing his fingers down whatever inch of skin he could reach. In bed he had them strip out of their clothes and lie naked together, head to head and foot to foot. Sirius couldn't get _enough_. He would have been more embarrassed about it if not for the fact that Remus seemed thrilled to be on the receiving end of his attentions. He touched Sirius just as much, and it never failed to make his heart swell in his chest

They kissed, too. Sometimes for ages. It was never anything more than a closed press of lips, but Sirius reveled in it. He loved the feel of their faces so close, loved the intimacy of Remus' lips against his own. Sometimes they'd share quick kisses that numbered into the dozens, and other times long ones that seemed to drag on forever. Sirius doubted Remus got as much satisfaction from it as Sirius did, but he didn't complain and Sirius had to learn to trust Remus' judgment anyway.

For the first time in a long, long time, Sirius was _happy_. He spent his days doing the things he loved with the people he cherished, and his nights wrapped tightly around the man of his dreams.

Life, in his opinion, couldn't have gotten better.

Which was why he should have expected it to get worse instead.

* * *

Sirius wasn't a stupid man by any means. It was a mistake people had often made about him whilst he'd been a student. He'd never minded, though. If there was one valuable thing he had learned from his family, it was that there were advantages to being underestimated—primarily that when you attacked (or pranked, in Sirius' case), the other person wouldn't ever see it coming. So no, Sirius wasn't stupid. He'd been raised to be intelligent and clever, and had undergone seven years of the best schooling system Wizarding Britain had to offer thereafter.

However, it could be argued that Sirius was a mite…dense. About certain things.

Such as the fact that Remus was still masturbating, and _frequently_, and he hadn't even noticed.

In retrospect, it was obvious that he would. Remus was not like Sirius; he was a warm-blooded,_sane_ man like any other and he had _needs_. Needs that Sirius, for all he wanted to, could not meet. It only reasoned that he'd take care of it himself. Better that than look elsewhere, he reckoned.

But it still stung.

Sirius didn't want to be selfish. He knew all too well what Remus had given up by being with him, and if indulging himself in such a way was what it took for Sirius to keep him, then that was that. Furthermore, Sirius did not _want_ Remus to suffer. He could still remember the pain of an unattended erection, and the terrible feeling of being unable to get off. He didn't want Remus to have to go through that, especially because of Sirius.

But it _was _because of him, and that was the worst part. After he'd heard Remus jerking off in the shower, his cries muffled by the sound of pelting water and a poorly cast silencing charm, it was all Sirius could think about. He observed Remus like a griffin for two weeks after, and the discoveries he'd made had him wanting to bash his head in with a club. It also caused him no small amount of guilt.

He simply hadn't noticed the way Remus would squirm when Sirius sat in his lap, and would flush when he massaged his feet, and would rush to the loo when Sirius kissed him for extended periods of time. Even Remus' decision to constantly be the 'little spoon' in bed—so that his groin was never within range of Sirius—made a lot more sense.

It made Sirius bristle with anger because it felt as if Remus didn't trust him. And then shame would fill his chest because that was the precise reason why Remus probably felt he couldn't.

It was the highest level of stupidity, but Sirius was jealous. He _wanted_ to be able to give Remus that kind of pleasure, Merlin did he. That Remus felt he had to go to such lengths to hide that part of himself from Sirius made his heart ache. They were _together_ now; they were supposed to share everything. Being shut out in such a way hurt.

As much as Sirius wanted to confront him about it, he did not. What would he have said anyway? Perhaps Remus _was_ justified in keeping his silence. Say they did talk about it, and then what? Things would just go back to being what they were—with Remus taking care of himself because Sirius was unable to.

* * *

In the end it was Remus who confronted him.

"Out with it, Padfoot. What's wrong with you?"

"You know I don't like it when you call me that," Sirius deflected. He was sprawled over the sitting room couch, an accounting book on his lap. He'd been going over the numbers for hours, to the point that they were still swimming before his eyes when he looked up. He blinked at Remus and shook his head, trying to clear it.

Remus sat down beside him, snatched the book and shut it, then slapped it onto the table. The sound it made as it hit the marble surface was as loud as any clap of thunder. Sirius startled.

"I asked what was wrong with you," he said. His tone was even, but there was something shadowed in his eyes—something dangerous. There were two days left until the full moon, and it showed. Remus' posture was tense; his shoulders were rigid, his back was stiff, and there was a taut set to his jaw that Sirius knew meant he was dead serious.

The tension was palpable. Infectious. Sirius unconsciously sat straighter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"No?" Remus murmured. It unnerved Sirius more than a shout ever could. "You haven't touched me in days. You tense up every time I try to hold you. You've barely spoken a word to me, and I want to know _why._"

Surely he hadn't been that bad, had he?

"Remus…" Sirius trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"The truth, Sirius." And then more softly, "Please."

Sirius dragged a hand through his hair, disheveling it. The room was quiet, the only noise to be heard the sounds of their breathing and the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner, and so he settled his gaze on his empty lap. His fingers attempted to smooth out the wrinkles that creased his trousers, but they sprung back up defiantly. There was a scattering of lint towards the inseam. He picked at it.

"I was trying to give you space," he forced himself to say. The words tasted sour on his tongue.

"From what?" Remus asked incredulously. Some of the tension bled out of Sirius' shoulders now that the other man no longer sounded as if he were about to rip out his throat. Not that Sirius believed that he ever would—on nights that weren't the full moon, anyway—but the way Remus' voice could deepen to a growling timbre, like that a wolf, never failed to unnerve him.

(He had found it sexy, once, but he'd been foolish then, naïve, like a child who poked at a kneazel just because it was cute.)

"From me," Sirius admitted.

"I don't understand."

Sirius sighed. He tilted his head back and watched the dust mites flutter around the air as if they were dancing. He made a mental note to vacuum.

"You masturbate," he said. It came out casual, aloof, and not accusing like he feared it might.

"And?" If possible, Remus sounded even more perplexed.

"And you didn't tell me!" Sirius said hotly, looking at him.

"I wasn't aware that I needed to tell you about every single thing I got up to!"

"Not everything, but the important stuff, yeah!"

"How could that possibly be important, Sirius?" Remus demanded.

Sirius' jaw twitched. "Because you didn't tell me! Because you always sneak off like you don't want me to know!"

"It doesn't concern you—"

An oh, how that hurt.

"Yes it does!" Sirius shouted, jumping to his feet. He towered over Remus, hands balled into fists at his sides. He couldn't remember being this angry with anyone in a long time. The fury was building in him, simmering to a boil, and the part of Sirius that was still rational—the part that knew that the person he was really angry at was himself—feared that it would overwhelm him and he'd say, or do, something he'd regret. "Yes it does! It does concern me! How dare you think it didn't!"

Remus stared up at him, his earth brown eyes wide. He simply looked at him, and Sirius didn't want to know what he was thinking, didn't want to know how Sirius looked to him now.

"You're right," Remus whispered. "I did not mean to hurt you. I'm sorry, Sirius."

And just like that his anger was gone, deflated like a punctured balloon. He fell into the couch like whatever strings were holding him up had been cut. He felt empty, hollow, as if his insides had been scraped clean and there was nothing left.

Sirius counted thirty-seven ticks of the grandfather clock before he bring himself to speak.

"No, I'm sorry," he muttered, eyes closed. "You're free to do with your own body as you like. You were right. It had nothing to do with me anyway." His tone was not bitter; just defeated. He knew Remus had been right, which was why he'd reacted that way. He'd been hurt and so he'd lashed out.

Just like an animal.

"Sirius," Remus exhaled. He scooted over until their shoulders were pressed together, aligned. "Come now, let's discuss this."

"What's there to discuss? You have needs and I can't meet them so you have to take care of them yourself. Finis, end of story, die ende."

"That's not how it is and you know it," Remus said.

"Isn't it?" Sirius asked.

Remus sighed. "I won't apologize for masturbating, Sirius, but I will apologize for trying so hard to keep it from you. Believe it or not, I didn't want to hurt you or put pressure on you."

When Sirius continued to say nothing, Remus pushed on. "I thought you might feel unnecessarily guilty—which, turns out you do—and I wanted to protect you from that. I should have known not to underestimate your guilt complex, really. That was my first mistake."

Sirius felt Remus' strong, warm hand envelop his own. Remus' thumb rubbed circles into his skin before he entwined their fingers together, curling them loosely.

"Sirius, I am very happy being with you. Yes, I've got urges, but they are nothing that I cannot take care of myself. Do I miss sex sometimes? I won't lie to you—I do." Sirius' hand clenched, and Remus' grip on him tightened. "However, the satisfaction I'd gain from such an encounter pales dramatically to the sheer happiness I feel when I'm with you. Do you understand, Sirius? I'm not with you because I want to get into your pants, you prat. I'm with you because I want to be with_you_. Your heart, your mind, your soul—those are things that I cherish about you. I could have sex with anyone, but what the two of us have, that can't be duplicated.

"If I had the choice to be with anyone in this entire world, you know I'd choose you again and again, regardless the circumstances."

A warm finger brushed Sirius' cheek, and he realized he was crying. The awareness was like a dam breaking; suddenly he couldn't hold back the tears. It felt as if all the fear, worry, frustration, and guilt had distended into a deluge his body could not contain. Sirius tried to shut his eyes to stop the outflow but it only exacerbated the problem; made the flow worse. Battle lost, he turned and buried his face in Remus' neck and cried.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. Remus' skin was so warm it burned his lips. "I'm so _sorry_. I felt so w-worthless, so u-useless, and I thought you were going to l-leave me f-for someone _better _a-a-and—"

"You ridiculous man," Remus murmured into his hair. He was gripping Sirius painfully tight, as if he knew that his hold was the only thing keeping Sirius from breaking apart. "You wonderful, ridiculous man. Whatever am I going to do with you?"

"D-don't care as long as you never l-leave me," Sirius hiccoughed.

"As if I could," Remus said. "I'd be just as lost without you."

"I d-doubt that."

"Then you're stupider than I thought you were."

"You've been saying that since we were kids."

"See? Then that's saying a lot."

Sirius barked a hoarse laugh into Remus' neck, then shuddered. His skin was salty and slimy, damp with tears, drool, and snot, but Sirius ignored the need to detach himself and take a shower and hugged him harder, instead.

"I _am_ sorry," he whispered.

"I know, Sirius. You're forgiven."

They stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other and breathing. Remus' hand petted his hair and Sirius found himself slumping into the embrace. He wanted nothing more than to drag Remus to bed and fall asleep, but…

"How about we take a bath and then take you to bed, hm?"

Sirius leaned back and gazed at him. Remus' eyes were kind, his crow's feet stretching at the corners. Though his face was dry his eyes were red, so Sirius thought he might have been crying, too. He leaned forward and kissed him gently, finding comfort in the familiar contact.

"Thank you," Sirius said. He didn't know what he did to deserve this man.

Remus smiled. "Love you, Sirius."

Sirius kissed him again.

"Love you, too."

* * *

Sirius woke to the sound of distant chirping. He peeled his brittle eyes open, only to turn his face into the pillow with a groan. They'd forgotten to close the curtains last night and the sun was now glaring through the gap of the drapes, casting their four poster canopy bed in a blanket of light. Sirius threw out his arm and blindly searched for his wand on the bedside table. Once found he muttered a spell to close the curtain, leaving only the very edges parted to allow some light into the room.

Sirius yawned and sat up. He scrubbed his face, stretched, and squinted his eyes. They still felt puffy and irritated, no doubt from having blubbered like a child, and while he would have felt humiliated any other time he simply couldn't muster the energy to today. His relief, his happiness, was like a balm on his heart and soul. He felt light enough to float away and warm enough to glow. He wanted to turn and hug Remus, to squeeze him so tightly their bodies melded together and they became one, but Remus was sleeping so he settled for staring instead.

Remus looked gorgeous laying there, his pale skin illuminated by the sunlight that ghosted the edges of the room. It casted a golden hue over his hair, made it shine copper. His lips were parted and a hint of tongue was visible from between his teeth. Wayward tendrils of his hair stirred as he breathed.

He was laying on his back, one arm thrown over his stomach, the other hidden beneath his pillow. It was a peculiar position, one that prickled at Sirius' mind, and it took him a moment to realize why. Remus looked so _vulnerable _laying there, the most sensitive parts of his anatomy on display, completely bared. Sirius took in the arch of his throat, the rise and fall of his chest, the planes of his stomach. Sirius couldn't imagine sleeping in such a way. He himself slept tucked into a tight ball when he wasn't wrapped around Remus, his arms and legs instinctively shielding the places where foes were most likely to target—the places that, should they succeed, he would not recover quickly from, if at all. Not even with Remus, who Sirius felt more safe with than any other, could Sirius allow himself to assume such a vulnerable position of sleep. The sight of Remus, who trusted about as easily as Sirius (that is to say, not much), splayed out in such a way…it made his throat tighten with the implications.  
Truly, Sirius was a blind fool.

Remus shifted and Sirius' attention was diverted, then captured. He watched appreciatively as the muscles in Remus' stomach rippled and stretched beneath his skin as his back arched. The blanket slipped, then lowered, revealing a smattering of coarse hair that trailed from his protruding navel down to be hidden by the top of the sheet. There was a bulge further down where the sheets tented. The outline of his erect cock was evident.

An idea formed in Sirius' mind, swift like a broom, and he glanced up at Remus to make sure he was sleeping. Sirius chewed on his lower lip, deliberated, then shimmied down and nestled himself between Remus' legs. He did not wake, but Sirius had not expected him to; Remus slept like the dead. Sirius peaked up once more at the slumbering man and pulled on the sheet. It slid over his cock and pooled above his balls, and Sirius marveled at the unobstructed view.

Remus' body was no stranger to Sirius. They bathed together, slept naked together, lazed about rare days completely in the nude. For all he hadn't touched, Sirius had still _seen _him. Remus was a beautiful man, and while Sirius' libido had been lost, his eyesight had certainly not been. Perhaps he could not get aroused, but he hadn't lost the ability to appreciate, at least, the things he once had, such as Remus' creamy skin, his firm muscles, his athletic shape. Such as the way his body swayed, shifted, and moved.

Even now Sirius was not disgusted. Remus' cock was like any other part of his body, and Sirius loved all of him. He could appreciate the thickness of his shaft, the delicate curve, the bulbous head. He leaned in and inhaled, taking in the heady scent of Remus and soap. No, Sirius was not disgusted by this in the least. He wrapped his hand around Remus' cock and stroked, watching avidly as the body it belonged to tensed and shuddered.

It didn't take long for Remus to awaken, his eyes snapping open and a stutter on his lips.

"S-Sirius?" He gasped, breath catching as Sirius squeezed him. "W-what are you—?"

"Ssh, Moony," Sirius breathed, reveling in the way he shivered. "Just relax."

"But!" Remus shook his head. "Sirius this is—ah!—c-_crazy_. It's n-not necessary! You don't—ah!"

"I know," Sirius said, increasing the strength and speed of his ministrations. "I know. But I _want _to, alright? Just let me do this for you."

Remus' eyes were wide, shimmering with uncertainty. He opened his mouth and closed it, as if he desperately wanted to say something but couldn't begin to know what. In the end he settled for nodding weakly, and Sirius saw it for the gesture it was. Remus was trusting him to know his own mind, his own limitations, just as he'd once asked Sirius to trust him with, too. Sirius exhaled shakily, shot him a grateful grin, and focused on the task at hand.

Remus trembled as Sirius stroked him. His stomach clenched, his legs quivered, and his hands fisted in the sheets. His panting was loud in the silent room, deafening, broken occasionally by a sudden moan or grunt. His hips shifted, undulated, until he was all but fucking into Sirius' grip.

Sirius did not get hard. His penis remained flaccid, tucked between his thighs. Arousal did not stir in his stomach and he did not feel a desperate need for release. He enjoyed touching Remus in the same way he enjoyed giving him a massage, and the only pleasure he received was the gratification of making Remus feel good.

It was not about desire or sex. It was not about Sirius. It was only about Remus, and his pleasure, and his relief. Sirius pulled at Remus' cock for what felt like ages. He caressed the head, twisted the shaft, stroked the base. He pulled the foreskin, dragged it down, tugged the wiry hairs. He went slow, and then fast, never settling on a pace or rhythm. He just moved.

When Sirius swiped the head of Remus' cock and his thumb came away wet, he faltered. He tried to hide his grimace and discretely wiped his hand. Remus' slit was letting loose its first bout of precum, the white liquid dribbling down his length. Sirius did not want to stop. Remus was panting, his head tilted back and mouth open on a gasp. His knuckles were white from where they gripped the sheets. He looked to be on the peak of pleasure, pleasure that Sirius had given him, and to stop now…

Sirius touched the base of his cock, which was still dry, still clean, and swallowed.

He could continue. He could suck it up, close his eyes, and stroke him until he got off. He could try to ignore the sticky mess on his hands and finish what he'd started. For Remus, he could. For Remus he _would_.

But Sirius did not want that, and Remus would not want that, either. He would shatter the delicate trust between them and give Remus cause never to trust him again. Moreover, Remus would probably feel _guilty_ for making Sirius feel obligated to do something that made him uncomfortable, and he did not deserve that.

His heart felt as if it were going to break through his chest; shatter it. If he did not die from the way guilt constricted his lungs first, that is. Sirius licked his lips and forced himself to draw back, to let Remus go. He curled his hands into fists and made himself look Remus in the eye. Remus, who was gazing at him with such a look of aroused confusion that it felt like a knife to his chest.

"S-Sirius?"

"I can't," Sirius croaked guiltily. "That was…that was my limit." It hurt to swallow.

Sirius expected him to lash out. To demand why he'd started something he could not finish. To turn away with a look of disappointment and leave to take care of it himself. He did not expect the broad smile that stretched across his face, or the gratitude that shone in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said.

Sirius laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "For giving you blue balls?"

"For trusting me," Remus tutted. "And for not breaking my trust in turn."

Sirius grunted disbelievingly. "You _must _be angry, Remus." Sirius certainly would have been in his position.

"There you go again, telling me how I should feel."

"I'm not trying—"

"But you _are_ anyway," Remus interrupted him. He sat up with a grimace. Sirius felt guilty all over again. "You gave me as much as you could, and I'm grateful for it. It was far more than I expected." He frowned down at his erection. It had deflated a little, but was nowhere near being flaccid. It hung between his stomach and the bed as if waiting for instruction on what to do.

"I'm going to take care of this."

Sirius nodded miserably. He lifted himself onto his knees in preparation to leave, to give Remus privacy, but Remus stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"I would like it very much," he said slowly, a faint flush inching up his cheeks, "if you'd stay."

Sirius stared. "You want me to…watch you?"

"If you're…amenable to it."

Sirius didn't have to think about it. He nodded and sat back down.

Remus inhaled deeply. He shot an uncertain look at Sirius and gripped himself with a fist. "If you start to feel uncomfortable you can leave. Don't stay on my account. I wouldn't want that."

"I know," Sirius said.

Remus exhaled a shaky breath, lowered himself to the mattress, and began to stroke.

It was…interesting. And not at all how Sirius had expected. Sirius had thought he'd be the type to go at it slowly, leisurely, taking his time from beginning to end, a perfect study of patience, endurance. Remus was not like that at all. He tugged himself quickly and roughly as if he were on a time constraint and couldn't afford to spare a single second. His grip was hard, unrelenting, the fingers aligned together as if stuck, and his hand all but blurred over his cock, it moved so fast.

He favored the pink head of his cock, rubbing his palm over it, stroking it with his fingers, dipping his thumb into the slit, smearing the precum. Every so often he'd twist his fingers over the broad shaft, shake it, drum his fingers against the underside where thick veins spanned.

It was fascinating. Remus thrashed on the bed, his hips upheaving. His legs were bent at the knees, toes curled into the mattress, thighs spread. There was a grimace on his face that made him look as if he were in pain, but the moans that fell from his lips could be from nothing else but pleasure.

Sirius had feared that he would be disgusted—would grow ill at the sight of Remus' leaking cock—and was pleased to find that he was not. He enjoyed the other man's rapture, his unabashed carnality, the desperation shimmering in his eyes.

"You're so gorgeous, Remus," Sirius found himself saying. He tweaked a dust-colored nipple between his fingers and Remus groaned. "So gorgeous. I love watching you like this, watching you come undone." He circled the nub, pressed it into his chest, and Remus keened.

"S-Sirius!"

"If you could only see yourself, see how wrecked you look, how _ravaged_—mm." He trailed his fingers up his chest, through the thatch of hair.

"Sirius, _please_," Remus gasped.

"What do you need, Remus?" Sirius said reverently. "Anything."

"Kiss me."

Sirius did. He pressed his lips against Remus', trailed his fingers through his hair, tugged. At the first rough pull Remus stilled and Sirius, knowing what was to come, lifted his face a few inches and opened his mouth to catch it.

Remus cried out, his body arching off the bed, his head tilting back. He gasped Sirius' name and Sirius could _feel _it, could feel the breath of his cries inside his mouth like a kiss, whisper soft and firelight hot. He brushed Remus' hair away from his eyes, ran his fingers down the side of his face, and cupped his cheek.

Sirius whispered "I love you," again and again like a mantra.

Remus only stared up at him with pleasure-glazed eyes.

"That was…" he whispered after a moment, "_good_."

"Just _good_?" Sirius asked, only half-teasing.

"Your dirty talk could use some working on," Remus replied breathlessly.

"Take that back!" Sirius said. He sat up and tugged Remus' ear, then ran his fingers down the shell.

"I won't. I'm determined that you must work on it. In fact, I insist."

"Insist, do you? I suppose we'll have to do this more often then, seeing as how I need more practice."

Remus' nod was solemn but his eyes were laughing. "I'm not overly adverse to the idea."

Sirius chuckled.

"Come on, then. We're both in need of a wash." As he said it his hand, the one that had been sullied, tingled uncomfortably. Yes, a bath was definitely in order.

"Mm," Remus hummed. He crawled off the bed and sauntered towards the door, his buttocks shifting as he walked. "I'll meet you there, then," he said, knowing that Sirius would have to clean up the mess in the bedroom first.

"Remus," Sirius called out before he disappeared out into the hall.

Remus turned around and quirked his brow.

"I really love you, you know," he said, voice tight.

Remus stared at him for moment, then beamed. "I know, Siri. As I, you."

He then vanished behind the wall, and Sirius could hear his heavy footsteps patter against the wooden tiles. He stared at the empty doorway for a long time with a dopey smile on his face before he shook his head and gathered his wand.

He cast a cleaning charm on the sheets, then sent them to the laundry room to be taken care of. That done, he got to work on ridding the room of the scent of sex.

When he stepped into the bathroom fifteen minutes later, the room was already full of purple steam. He closed the door behind him and it fell shut with a loud _snick_. Remus, at having heard the noise, parted the curtain and beckoned him inside with an outstretched hand.

Sirius grabbed it, entwined their fingers together, and joined him.

* * *

**_Finis_**

* * *

**A/N:** Hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for reading! As always, reviews are welcome.

Also: if anyone is interested, I wrote a Harry/Sirius fic for the same fest that I won't post to FFN because it features chan (HP is 13).The fic doesn't contain non-con or dub-con (though you can certainly apply either because of HP's age). If that entices you a link can be found at my LJ (reikokatsura).


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